Life Goes On
by Erin66200
Summary: A glimpse at how life has treated some of our favorite characters. Harry deals with his ever-present fame, someone returns from the dead, and Draco gets engaged. A few years post-DH. My first story, so reviews would be awesome.


Disclaimer: I own nada. My name is not J.K. Rowling.

The sun shone merrily down on Hogsmeade. Students milled through the streets, some laden with Zonko products and others more intent on dragging their new soul mate to Madam Puddifoot's. Then, with a quick _pop_, a young man appeared quite out of nowhere, right in the middle of the road.

Arrival by Apparition was commonplace here, so nobody paid him any attention– for which he was very grateful. Ducking his head to prevent being recognized, he entered the Three Broomsticks. Barely had he crossed the threshold when a gangly seventeen-year old walked right into him.

"Ouch– blimey– sorry!" the boy yelped. Familiarly, frustratingly, his eyes fell upon the scar. "You... You're Harry Potter!...sir," he added. Thankfully this was in a strangled whisper and no crowd gathered. "Can't believe it– never– don't even have the Chocolate Frog card on me..."

But then a woman came forward from a table hidden in the corner. With one look she prompted the boy to leave, then turned to Harry. "Potter," she said warmly.

"Professor." The Apparition had been a long one, and Harry felt drained. Perhaps Minerva McGonnagal noticed this, for next moment she had ushered Harry to her table and placed a warm butterbeer in his hand. "Drink up, Potter, we've got a long talk ahead of us."

O. O. O. O. O. O. O. O. O. O. O. O. O. O. O. O. O. O.

"Attention, class. ATTENTION!" barked Bradoc Burns. "Today we have the honor of hearing a lecture from the greatest wizard of all time. Harry Potter."

The class sat in a state of silent shock, then began murmuring excitedly.

"Harry Potter here!"

"Brilliant!"

"Oh, perfect– look at the state of my hair!"

Burns hushed them, then opened the door. Like an angel from heaven descending unto earth, the Chosen One entered the classroom.

"Harry! Harry!" It was the gangly boy from the Three Broomsticks. "Tell them I met you! Tell them!"

Harry nodded awkwardly. He felt distracted and, like always, uncomfortably the center of attention. He tried to remember what he was supposed to say. "Well, Headmistress McGonnagal asked me to tell you what it's like going up against the Dark Arts." He then launched into the speech he had nervously prepared, briefly detailing the different battles he had fought. He was not very eloquent and lost his place many times, but the class was rapt and devoted. "What I'm trying to say is, well, fighting against Voldemort took a lot of luck. But you can't depend on luck. So you have to learn lots of spells. And...er... memorize them." The applause shook the desks.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Potter, I'm sure none of us will ever forget this! Oh bravo!" shouted Professor Burns gleefully, his hands red from clapping. Once several girls had collapsed and all of the boys had taken to chanting, "HA-RRY! HA-RRY!", Burns finally allowed Harry to leave.

McGonnagal was waiting outside the door, looking severely vexed at all the noise. "I'll speak to Professor Burns about how he runs that class. Disgraceful," she muttered. "Potter! Did it go well? Did you say we need to forgive all repentant Death Eaters and remain unified, like I asked?"

Harry froze. "Er... well... sorry, Professor. No. I forgot half my speech anyway, got all nervous, I s'pose. But you can tell them just as well as me, right?"

"No, no, they'll take it so much better from you– but here he comes now!" Harry turned his head and felt his stomach drop. No– couldn't be– he was _dead_–

"Wipe that foolish look off your face, Potter, and leave me to talk to the Headmistress." Harry continued to stare, boggled. "Tempting as it must be to stand so near a class full of idiot children who worship you... Even _you _should know when you're not wanted. Now get out of my sight."

So it _was _Snape, then. Harry's first feeling of disbelieving joy quickly turned rancid. Clearly death had not improved Snape. "G-goodbye, Professor," he said to McGonnagal, then fled before Snape could open his sneering mouth again.

Dumbledore's office. There was nothing else for it. _McGonnagal's office_, he reminded himself. No, it would always be Dumbledore's office to him. Harry felt a talk with Dumbledore's portrait would clarify matters, and was just starting to feel confident again when he realized he didn't know the password. He stared hopelessly at the gargoyle, then jumped in shock when it revolved to present Draco Malfoy, who was wiping his eyes. Malfoy also jumped upon spotting Harry, then glared, muttered "_git_", and hurried away. Supremely uncomfortable at the sight of a Slytherin displaying emotion, not to mention further confused by Malfoy's presence in this office, Harry trudged up the stairs.

"Harry!" Dumbledore greeted him. Harry noted that Dumbledore's voice was softer and weaker than in past, and suspected the portrait was feigning vulnerability to prevent Harry from becoming angry. His jaw clenched at the thought of this possible subterfuge.

"What's Snape doing here? Alive? And since when do you have heart-to-hearts with _Malfoy_?"

Dumbledore took in Harry's glare, and sighed. The sigh said, _I am a man of the world. I have seen many tragedies. I am old._ "Draco was merely being reunited with his godfather. I had nothing to do with it."

"Snape's Malfoy's godfather?" Harry said blankly. "Hey– you're trying to distract me, and it won't work! How come Snape's not dead? He's been dead for three years! What did you DO?"

"I did nothing," Dumbledore replied. "Professor Snape was never dead. Quite the clever trick, I must say. Hiding in Norway while we cleaned out all the remaining Death Eaters. But to answer your question, Harry, I'm afraid you left poor Professor Snape for dead on that fateful night, though he was quite alive. He had enough strength to administer himself a bezoar, then perform the spell to heal Nagini's bite. If Minerva hadn't found him later that night, he may yet have died."

Harry blanched. "Min– Professor McGonnagal knew? All this time? And she never told me?"

"Professor Snape chose to enact the Fidelius Charm. You know how that works. As Severus was Secret-Keeper, Minerva was powerless to tell anyone, even me. But as his health is restored, his past is atoned for, and the job was open, Professor McGonnagal has offered him his old position as Potions master. And I quite agree," he finished, with a steady look in his piercing blue eyes that forced Harry's arguments back down his throat. They remained in silence for a while, then Harry muttered a terse farewell and left. He was still angry. He didn't know why, but he knew that ex-Death Eaters shouldn't be allowed to teach at Hogwarts.

O. O. O. O. O. O. O. O. O. O. O. O. O. O. O. O. O. O. O. O. O. O. O. O.

Draco Malfoy stood at the gate of his home, watching a peacock peck at a dead rat. It had never struck him how repulsive those birds were. _Father was wrong again_, he thought heavily. _More disgusting than "distinguished", those birds are. _It was somehow a crushing blow, one more thing to add to the list of Lucius Malfoy's failures. Draco felt the horrible, depressive shame fall over him again. He struggled against it, resurfaced, and willfully chose to push it away, hide it and pretend it wasn't there. He'd been going through this process a lot lately, it seemed. Drawing in a breath and forcing the old self-assured cockiness back into his lungs, he made his way into Malfoy Manor.

"Mother?" he called, but soon spotted her. She was sitting alone at the end of their massive, ornate table, leaning over a stack of moving photographs. Draco recognized them as being his father. Seeing the tears in his mother's eyes when she looked up, he felt inexplicably disgusted. He impulsively decided not to tell her about Snape.

"Draco. Darling." Narcissa rose and turned over a picture of Lucius, in which he looked as disdainful and commanding as usual. "Forgive me... this should be a happy day, but I couldn't..." She sighed shakily. "The Parkinsons were over earlier. We discussed it, and decided to enter into an engagement. If you agree of course. And you know how I want you to be happy..." She trailed off, looking hopeful.

"An engagement?" For some reason, the image of the peacock tearing apart the rat had entered his mind again, and Draco found it hard to pay attention. But he saw the hope in his mother's eyes for the first time since... since the war, since his father had been dragged away, and he forced his mind into obedience. An engagement. "To marry?"

"Yes, dear. To marry Pansy." There was no mistaking it, a flush of pleasure was creeping into Narcissa's cheeks. Merlin, was she _happy_? _Yes, _his mind answered, _of course. Of course she's happy to see her son married to a nice, pretty pure-blooded witch. _He'd never felt anything close to love for Pansy, but she clearly adored him and he didn't suppose he'd ever get much better than that. He'd seen enough of the world– more than most his age– to know that kind of love didn't exist, the kind he saw in the hope in his mother's eyes, as if he could see straight into the picture in her head right now, of her dear boy blissfully married, perfectly happy.

"Of course, Mother. I'll marry Pansy."


End file.
